


Murder and Everything of the Kind

by Courtney621



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtney621/pseuds/Courtney621
Summary: Alarmed by a change in General Tilney’s appearance, Catherine becomes convinced that he is the victim of foul play.
Relationships: Catherine Morland/Henry Tilney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Murder and Everything of the Kind

A year had passed since Catherine Morland had married Henry Tilney, and the young couple’s relationship with General Tilney, though mended, remained uneasy. They preferred to stay comfortably at their parsonage-house in Woodston and leave the general to himself at Northanger Abbey, and not even Catherine’s former infatuation with ancient and mysterious buildings could induce her to visit it unless necessary. Henry would have been quite happy to drop all association with his father entirely (his consent obtained and the marriage performed, Henry saw little reason to call on the general at all), but Catherine, eager to keep the peace and to avoid a total rupture, would not hear of it. It would be shocking for Henry to cut his father out of his life, and quite incompatible with the office of a clergyman.

“You must demonstrate Christian forgiveness, my dear Henry,” Catherine told him, whenever he was feeling particularly exasperated by his father. “You must be the example, ‘For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.’”

As Henry could make no argument against this, and Catherine looked pleased with herself for expressing it so well, he merely smiled at his wife and tried his best.

***

It was with some trepidation, then, that Catherine and Henry approached Northanger Abbey one cold winter morning. It was the first time they had visited since their marriage and they were apprehensive about the reception they were to receive. General Tilney may have exerted himself to a fair degree of civility at their wedding, but now they were meeting him alone, in his own habitat.

“Well, he did invite us,” said Henry bracingly. “He must desire our company.”

Catherine clutched his arm a little tighter. She had other reasons, in addition to her established misgivings about General Tilney, for wanting to avoid the Abbey. There were very many painful and mortifying memories attached to the place.

“Ah! Henry! Catherine! How delightful to see you!”

Catherine just stopped herself from gasping. Her father-in-law was much altered since she had last seen him. The general, usually so handsome and commanding, looked pallid and drawn. He was putting on a good show of enthusiasm for their visit, but she could not help feeling alarmed by his appearance.

Throughout the customary exchange of niceties, Catherine glanced often at Henry, who did not seem at all concerned, but she felt no less unnerved by the time they all sat down to eat.

“I have a new cook,” announced General Tilney. _“French_ ,” he added impressively.

The food was truly superb and Catherine enjoyed it immensely. She could not help noticing, however, that the general did not seem to be eating much of it himself. He picked at his plate with a grimace and sent it away barely touched. 

“Eat, eat!” the general encouraged them. “I am sure you do not often experience such a meal. You cannot dine this well at Woodston.”

“No,” said Catherine faintly. 

“Indeed, we are exceedingly grateful for your condescension,” added Henry.

If the general heard the archness in his son’s tone, he chose to ignore it. He talked on about the new cook, and the new furniture, and the improvements he was making about the abbey. Henry responded politely, but Catherine was distracted and absent throughout the visit. Henry looked at her questioningly, but she merely shook her head and tried to attend to his conversation with the general. She was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to follow, however, and she contented herself with nodding at appropriate intervals and agreeing with whatever Henry said. 

It was a great relief when the visit was over. Catherine thanked heaven that, the next day being Sunday, they were unable to spend the night. Concerned though she may be, she did not want to spend any more time at Northanger than what was required.

***

It was a quiet trip home, but Henry seemed to take her silence for exhaustion and she was happy to leave him to this interpretation. 

“Did your father seem quite well to you, my dear?” she asked him when they had arrived back at Woodston.

“As agreeable as he always is,” said Henry with a smile.

“Henry, do be serious.” She did not want to sound alarmed, not when Henry was so untroubled, but she could not help feeling disquieted by the general’s appearance. “I think there may be something wrong. He barely touched his food, and he looks so thin and haggard!”

“He is hardly a young man,” shrugged Henry. “It is no great wonder that he is beginning to look his age.”

Perhaps she was overreacting. Henry did not seem concerned at all. She tried to put the general out of her mind entirely.

***

That Wednesday, they were visited by Henry’s sister.

“It is always a great honor to receive the viscountess at our humble parsonage,” said Henry, with a comically exaggerated bow. 

“Do not make yourself ridiculous, Henry,” smiled Eleanor, hugging Catherine. “How are you, my dear?”

“Very well,” said Catherine. “I hope you are in good health.”

“I am, indeed. Robert sends his apologies,” she said, turning to Henry. “He was obliged to go to town on business. He sends his love.”

They retired to the drawing-room for tea. Henry and Eleanor provided much of the conversation, while Catherine was content to listen. She drank her tea quietly, wondering if she could enquire about the general without exasperating Henry, for try as she might, she could not cease worrying about her father-in-law. Luckily for Catherine, it was Eleanor who brought him up.

“Robert and I visited my father early last week. He implied that he would be seeing _you_ soon, as well.”

“Yes,” said Henry with a sly smile. “We dined with him on Saturday. And were you so fortunate as to experience the offerings of his new French cook? He was kind enough to inform _us_ of how blessed we were to have such an opportunity.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said, amused, “he mentioned the cook, but did not make much more of it than that.”

“Ah, well, it is harder to display your superiority to a viscount and viscountess than it is to us lesser mortals, and it is certainly not difficult to belittle one’s least favorite child.”

“I would not assume that _Frederick_ does not own that title.”

“Oh, but the heir receives a level of clemency that is never extended to the second son.”

“Was the general well when you saw him?” asked Catherine, finally having gathered the courage to broach the subject.

“I believe so,” said Eleanor, surprised. “Why? Was he ill on Saturday?”

“I thought he looked…” Catherine hesitated, trying to be delicate, “...not himself.” 

Eleanor considered this. “Now that you mention it, he did say, in passing, that he thought he might be developing a cold. And he was, perhaps, a little short-tempered with the servants.”

“How could you tell, in comparison to his usual behavior?” asked Henry. “Did he thrash one of the maids in front of you?”

“Behave yourself, Henry. I believe there was some argument about the kitchens.” 

“But you did not notice anything extraordinary in his appearance or behavior?” Catherine pressed. 

“He did not eat much,” Eleanor admitted. “but that may have been the beginning of the cold. It has been some time since you have seen him, my dear Catherine. I visit him more often than you do and I have not noticed a drastic change in him. He is thinner than when you first met him in Bath, but he has been growing thinner for some time now. He goes through these little spells of minor ill health. Altogether, I believe he is much as he ever was.”

Catherine remained unconvinced.

***

Several days later, Catherine was visiting one of Woodston’s little chandler’s shops when her attention was caught by a figure darting past the window. The person, whoever it may be, had reminded her very much of her father-in-law, but it was highly unlikely that the general was in the village. 

She moved closer to the window, trying to appear nonchalant as she took a closer look. Yes! It _was_ the general! Catherine was astounded. What could he be doing here? He was moving very swiftly, his greatcoat drawn around him and his head lowered. Was it Catherine’s imagination, or was he looking behind him more often than was natural, almost as if he was worried about being followed? 

A thousand ideas, each more sinister than the last, took hold in Catherine's brain. The general's sudden lack of appetite, his harassed and harried air as he rushed up the street, his being where he was decidedly not expected to be: did not all of this point to something very much like foul play? Catherine had read of such men, weakened and fleeing for their lives. Her suspicions had been awakened at Northanger and she was becoming ever more convinced that her father-in-law, irascible man that he was, had found himself entangled in some devious plot. 

Her mind whirled. What could he be frightened of? What had changed in his life recently? Her mind kept being drawn back to that inexplicable change in eating habits. The general, a man with such a discriminating and enthusiastic palate, had suddenly lost his appetite, at the very same time that he had acquired a new and fashionable cook. Could it be? Did she dare to think it? 

Catherine was very distracted throughout all of her charitable calls. She was hardly performing her duty towards Henry's parishioners. She felt her rudeness but was incapable of correcting it, and she hurried home as quickly as she possibly could. 

Henry looked up from his papers, smiling, when he heard her come in, but his expression quickly slipped into concern upon seeing her face. He crossed the room quickly and took her hands.

“Catherine, what is the matter?”

“Your father is in Woodston!” she said breathlessly.

Henry looked nonplussed. “I know. He was just here.”

“He was just - what?” 

Visions of the general, sick with fear and remorse, rushing to his younger son’s home to make amends while he still could, swam in front of Catherine’s eyes.

“He came to deliver a message from Frederick.”

Catherine found this a very unbelievable excuse.

“He came just to deliver a message to you?”

Henry smirked. “No, I doubt very much whether he would deign to call on _me_ for so meager a reason. He is visiting a friend here before going on to London.”

Catherine had to mull all of this over. It seemed a flimsy story to her. 

“I will give you this, Catherine,” Henry continued, “I do not think he is looking particularly well, and he complained of a chill. Perhaps he is developing the rheumatism. It is rather a blustery, unpleasant day. Come, my dear. Stand closer to the fire.”

She obeyed, warming her hands and weighing her words carefully. 

“He has not visited us here before.”

“It was not unusual for him to come to Woodston, before we were married,” Henry shrugged. “He visits General Williamson fairly regularly, and he would always drop by to drink my tea, eat my cold meat, and lament over my housekeeping.” He grinned at her.

“Did your father take any refreshment today?” Catherine asked in what she hoped was an airy, offhand manner.

“No, he said he was not hungry. I dare say he is dining with Williamson.”

This was confirmation enough for Catherine. She could hold back no longer.

“Henry, I believe your father’s life is in danger!”

His eyes widened at this. “What would make you think such a thing?”

“He is behaving so strangely! And his appetite is so changed--”

“I do not know that we have adequate evidence of that, my love.”

“Oh,” said Catherine, “but we have seen it, and Eleanor noticed it too!” 

“I am not sure that we can conclude anything so sinister from what little observation we have been able to make,” Henry said reasonably.

“Henry, I believe - I believe your father is being poisoned!”

This came out more dramatically than she intended, and a mixture of surprise, amusement, and fondness crossed over Henry’s face before he settled on a carefully neutral expression.

“And this is because he looks--”

“He looks _dreadful_ , Henry. So thin, and pale, and haggard! Your father, who takes so much care with his appearance! You must think it strange that he appears so differently now.”

“I do _not_ know that it is so strange, my dear. He is getting older, and the loss of Eleanor must have shown him how many of his comforts were maintained by the mistress of the house.”

“But it has been over a year since Eleanor married,” Catherine argued, “and he has never looked this way until very recently!”

“You have not _seen_ him this year until very recently,” Henry reminded her gently. “Eleanor is not disconcerted by it.”

“I think you are both mistaken.”

“Well, then,” said Henry, “let us say that you are right. Who do you think is the poisoner?”

“His new French cook!”

Henry’s lips twitched.

“Your father barely eats at all now,” Catherine pressed on, “which is very unlike him.”

“If he is not eating, how is the cook poisoning him?”

“Henry, do not tease me. He is still eating some. Maybe it is not in his food. Maybe the poison is in the wine!”

“And what happens after my father is murdered? The cook will be out of a very comfortable position.”

“Henry! I am being serious.”

“So am I, my dear,” he said softly, taking her hand. “I think it very unlikely that the cook is a secret poisoner. There would be much to lose and little to gain by so being.”

“Perhaps,” said Catherine desperately, “perhaps the cook is working on another’s behalf! Perhaps the cook is an _assassin_!”

Henry laughed aloud now. 

“No,” insisted Catherine, “he could be!”

“And who among my father’s acquaintance would hire an assassin?”

“Perhaps your brother is eager for his inheritance.”

Henry’s eyes were very bright with barely-suppressed amusement. “Frederick has his faults, but I do not think he would try to have my father killed.”

“Henry, please,” Catherine begged. “Something is wrong. I know it is. We must go visit your father. Please, _please_ do this for me.”

“Will you remain open to the possibility that nothing is wrong and that there is no assassin involved in the case?”

“Yes, yes,” agreed Catherine immediately. “But we must be sure of your father’s safety.”

Henry, though never overeager to visit the Abbey, was always anxious to humor his wife.

“Very well, my love. After he returns from town, we shall invite ourselves to Northanger.”

***

Catherine spent the journey to Northanger tortured by images of grisly murder scenes, her father-in-law lying lifeless on the floor and the cook nowhere to be found.

But they were greeted by the general quite civilly enough. His color was better, and Catherine thought his face looked a little fuller than it had, but she mistrusted these signs of improvement. There was something odd and stiff in his expression that she had never noticed before, and she was by no means convinced of his health.

If the general was perplexed by the young couple’s eagerness to visit again so soon, he did not show it. He was more than happy to display his latest acquisitions of wealth and grandeur to the more desolate members of his family, and could see no reason why the pair of them wouldn’t seize any opportunity to be awed by the Abbey’s greatness.

Catherine watched him closely as they sat down to eat, and she saw that Henry was doing the same. But whatever of his appetite that the general had lost, he seemed to have regained it very quickly, and he ate with as much gusto as he had when Catherine had first known him.

She did not know what to make of it. She looked at Henry, perplexed. He gave her a barely perceptible shrug, but when she looked at him urgingly, he sighed and cleared his throat.

“I hope you have been well, sir.”

“Very well.”

“Eleanor mentioned that you felt the beginning of a cold when she dined with you.”

“It came to nothing.”

Henry glanced at Catherine, who looked very intently back, silently imploring him to continue. Henry sighed again.

“And you have not been suffering any aches or pains? It has been a damp several weeks.”

“I have said I am quite well, Henry.” The general was beginning to sound annoyed.

“We have just thought,” Henry persisted, “that you might not be feeling quite yourself, sir. Forgive me for saying so, but you have looked ill. We have been anxious to confirm that this was not the case.”

General Tilney glowered at his son. “And I have told you that _I am well_ , so let us drop the subject.”

The general’s ill humor seemed to be infecting Henry, who snapped back, “I am glad to hear it, sir, and that you are feeling well enough to be as bad-tempered as ever. Rest assured that I will ask no more about your health. It was Catherine who cared in the first place.”

“I would thank your wife to mind her own affairs and to stay out of mine.”

This was quite the wrong thing to say, and Henry fired up immediately.

“ _Catherine_ was more concerned for your well-being than your own children were, I am sorry to say. She is the one who urged for our coming here today, for the sole purpose of ascertaining your welfare. In spite of the fact that you have treated her _infamously_ , she has been worrying constantly over your health and has shown you far more compassion than you could possibly deserve.”

“It is none of her concern,” roared the general.

Henry, so angry a moment before, paused, looking puzzled. “What is wrong with your mouth?”

The general colored. “Nothing.”

But Catherine, mortified, had noticed it too. There was a very dark space where the first molar should have been. The general noticed her looking and she lowered her gaze quickly.

“Are you missing a tooth?” asked Henry.

The general looked irate, and it was some time before he spoke at all.

“I had it out in town,” he said finally. “There was something amiss with it.”

Catherine wished that she would be swallowed up by her chair and never heard from again.

Henry’s face was working furiously. “It is barely noticeable,” he said solemnly, although Catherine could hear the laughter in his voice. “And you so seldom smile, sir, that I am sure none of your acquaintance will be any the wiser.”

The general glared at him and rapidly changed the subject. The visit came to a close shortly after, though not as quickly as any of them would have preferred.

***

Henry handed Catherine into the carriage. When he joined her, he saw that she looked perilously close to tears.

“I told myself that I would never again be so silly!” she cried. “I deserve to be scolded for the rest of my life!”

“You deserve no such thing,” said Henry warmly. “You have a very good heart, Catherine. That more than atones for an overactive imagination.”

He kissed her gently on the forehead and took her hand. His words and his kindness soothed her, though she was still far from comfortable.

“Well, my dear, I very much doubt that we will be invited back to Northanger in a hurry. I must say, I would feel very sympathetically towards any poisoner, French cook or no, who decided to take up in the abbey.”

This did not extort from her the reaction that he had intended. Catherine, embarrassed and ashamed, squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry.

“Never mind, Catherine, my love,” Henry said softly, stroking her cheek. “Things will mend in time. They always do. And if it takes another year or two for them to do so, all the better. We have seen enough of my father to last a good long while, and, I dare say, we will occupy ourselves quite pleasantly in the meantime. Your society is all that I require for my happiness.” 

Was there a Catherine in the world who would not be moved by such a declaration? She gave Henry a tremulous sort of smile, to prove that her spirits were not permanently sunk, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Her life was better, she thought, when Northanger Abbey was kept at a distance.


End file.
